


my only medicine is your love

by vonseal



Series: magic users [7]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Sickfic, its more silly than anything, just park jinwoo being ill holla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/pseuds/vonseal
Summary: Jinwoo had been so comfortable with Myungjun, he forgot being sick was still a thing.





	my only medicine is your love

**Author's Note:**

> it's a witchcraft sick fic. i have no excuse for writing it, i just wanted to write it.

Jinwoo was sick.

Dreadfully, terribly so. His body felt as if it was on fire, at first – and then when he tore off his covers, it was no better than being stranded outside in the middle of winter. And even then, even as cold as he was, he still broke out in a sweat. Moving an arm to wipe at his forehead sent a shock of pain running through his body, through his bones, and he decided that he might as well lay there and die. It would probably hurt less.

But someone shifted in the bed beside him. Jinwoo heard Myungjun's small grumble as he, too, rose with the sun; but then he gave a chipper, “Morning, babe!”

He mustn't get sick. Jinwoo could handle it himself, but Myungjun _must not_ get sick. Not now, not ever. He was far too important, far too valuable, to succumb to illness, and Jinwoo didn't think he could handle staring down at his sick boyfriend in such a helpless state.

So he did the only intelligent thing possible – he turned quickly and pushed Myungjun off the bed.

The older boy tumbled to the floor with a shout.

“What the _hell_ , Jinwoo? Why did you do that?”

Jinwoo groaned and curled up into the covers again, closing his eyes and sniffling to himself. “I think,” he started, his voice hoarse, “I'm sick.”

Myungjun confirmed it, placing a hand up against Jinwoo's forehead, and he fretted with concern. “Should we take you to a hospital?” he asked, scrambling up to his feet.

Jinwoo, however, shook his head, even if it hurt to do so. A hospital would mean being in the public eye, being poked and prodded, possibly being asked to show some forms of identification. To remain off the radar, Jinwoo had fabricated everything he had; he was completely invisible in the eyes of the government, and if they dug a little deeper into who he was, he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of trouble.

Fortunately for him, Myungjun seemed to understand his reluctance. He gave Jinwoo's shoulder a cautious pat. “I can get you some medicine?”

His question was soft and sweet, and Jinwoo replied with a hasty, “Yes, please.”

 

By mid-afternoon, Jinwoo somehow felt worse. He had taken the medicine Myungjun had given him, he had allowed himself to be babied relentlessly, he had consumed a soup that Minhyuk made, but nothing really seemed to be working.

“Well, I don't think sickness goes away that fast, babe,” Myungjun pointed out as he replenished the damp towel over Jinwoo's forehead. “When Minhyuk got sick, it took him _days_ to heal up.”

“Days?” Jinwoo repeated. He couldn't imagine feeling like this for _days_.

“Yeah. What, haven't you ever gotten sick before?”

“Not like this.” He had only experienced a cold twice before, and a fever three times. He was the epitome of health – though it also could have been due, in part, to his magic. Back when Jinwoo had no home, it would have been simple enough to contract some form of disease, and so he always ensured that his magic was strong enough to ward germs away. He had just gotten to comfortable living with Myungjun, worrying about nothing and enjoying life. He had assumed he wouldn't be hurt by anything else ever again.

He forgot that being sick was still a thing.

Myungjun clicked his tongue up against the roof of his mouth. “Usually when I'm sick like this,” he murmured, “Minhyuk takes care of me. He's great at doing that.”

“I don't want _Minhyuk_ to take care of me,” Jinwoo murmured. Minhyuk was great and Jinwoo really did like him, but it wasn't _Minhyuk_ he wanted to help him to the bathroom to puke, and it wasn't _Minhyuk_ he wanted to run his fingers through his hair and coo over him. He only needed Myungjun for that task.

“Oh, I'm not making him do anything. Yet.” When Jinwoo glanced over worriedly at Myungjun, the older boy smiled sheepishly. “I might have clients tomorrow. I'll ask if they can wait for another day, but I can't just blow them off.”

Jinwoo knew that. Jinwoo knew that Myungjun's job was the most important to them all at the moment, as Jinwoo worked at securing _himself_ a job. The bakery only made so much money, but not nearly enough to keep three of them afloat. Myungjun was definitely the breadwinner – if he missed a day, or if he had no clients, they were looking at a tighter week, money-wise.

So Jinwoo couldn't very well force him; he tried anyway.

“Make me your client.”

“Ooh, that sounds sexy. Like a doctor-”

“No, like...I feel like I'm dead inside.” Jinwoo moaned for effect, acting as if his organs were failing, shutting down all at once. He wrapped his arms around himself and peered at Myungjun. “Help me. I'm dead inside.”

Myungjun didn't look very impressed. “I can't cure _that_. My powers don't work on sickness.”

“But I'm dead-”

“You're not, and you shouldn't say it like that.”

His boyfriend wasn't joking right then. His face was set straight, jaw clenched, as he wiped sweat from Jinwoo's temple. And Jinwoo watched him, worried and nervous, recognizing what he said was wrong on all accounts.

“Myungjun, I didn't...I didn't mean to say it like that. I swear. It wasn't...it wasn't referring to, to that, it was a joke.”

“I know.”

Then Myungjun sighed, moving aside the washcloth. “But sometimes I think about it, Jinwoo. About...about what I saw. Y-You laying there, and...I didn't know if I could save you. I had never done that before, and I keep thinking, sometimes, I'll wake up and _you_ won't wake up. Sometimes I'll wake up an-and it's like it was and I can't save you this-”

Jinwoo quieted him with a light _shh_ , before grabbing his hand. Myungjun's skin was soft; Jinwoo's was clammy. “I won't get in trouble like that again.”

“I know,” Myungjun repeated, nodding his head in a rush. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize. I should be the one to apologize. It was my mistake.” Jinwoo squeezed Myungjun's hand. “But from now on, we're going to be together forever, won't we? I'll wake up every single morning, and I'll wrap you in my arms and think to myself, 'wow, this is _my_ boyfriend.'” When he heard Myungjun giggle, Jinwoo decided he did a relatively good job at clearing the mood. “And then I'll kiss you awake, as well, and you'll stare at me, like you do sometimes, with all the love in the world.”

“Like I do _all_ the time,” Myungjun corrected.

Jinwoo had to disagree. “No. No, sometimes you look at me like I'm about to be devoured.”

“My sexy look.”

“I don't know if I'd call it that.” Jinwoo laughed as Myungjun gave a small huff and crossed his arms over his chest. The laughter quickly died off, though; Jinwoo's stomach felt nauseous from too much movement.

Myungjun waited until all was silent, and he stood, taking the washcloths with him. “I'll forgive you for now,” he commented, “for everything. Including your nonexistent apology for saying my sexy look _isn't_ sexy. Because I sure as hell know that it turns _you_ on.” With all the dramatic flair he could muster, Myungjun spun around and waltzed to the door.

His fantastic exit never came. Instead, he hesitated, hovering by the doorway, before setting his things down and hurrying right back to Jinwoo.

“I'm still mad,” he assured as he took his seat. He brushed Jinwoo's bangs away from his eyes. “But I think it'd be terrible of me to leave someone sick by himself. Wouldn't it?”

Jinwoo only smiled, and he closed his eyes soon, allowing Myungjun's gentle touches to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

 

As it turned out, Myungjun's clients refused to accept anything later than the next afternoon. “It's two dogs,” Myungjun mumbled as he dressed himself. “They were tied up outside and some psychopath just killed them.”

“How?” Jinwoo asked, though he wasn't entirely interested. He couldn't keep his eyes open very well.

“Hell if I know. I'll figure out, though. God, I hope the bodies aren't mangled. It hurts to see them like that.”

“Does it hurt worse to see me like this?”

“Nothing hurts worse than that.” Myungjun grabbed a few things from their bedside table, including one of the potions Jinwoo had set aside earlier that week. “This won't be as good as your kisses to energize me back up,” the older boy complained as he stuffed it into his backpack. “So it might be a while before I'm able to come home. I'll call, though, and have Sanha walk me back.”

Jinwoo finally shut his eyes and hummed into his pillow. “Why not Minhyuk?”

“I don't trust Sanha alone with _you_.”

“I'm being babysat by Minhyuk?”

Myungjun's response was laughter, bright and loud. It filled the room, and while Jinwoo's ears had been sensitive to sudden noises for the past few days, he couldn't help but find comfort in Myungjun's tone, in his complete and utter happiness. He smiled, face mostly hidden by the sheets that he had pulled up to his chin.

“Sanha's over, too, so you have _two_ sets of hands. And I told them if they don't bow down to your every command, I'll kill them.”

There was no goodbye kiss – Myungjun didn't want to catch Jinwoo's bug. Instead, he blew several air kisses, waiting until Jinwoo groggily reached a hand up to catch one of them.

(“Are you just going to hold it in your fist, Park Jinwoo? What _are_ my kisses to you? It's not – don't pretend to put my kiss down _there_ , damn it, now I have to blow another one. Catch it and stick it to your lips, okay?”)

And then, he realized, his fate was left up to Minhyuk and Sanha.

He trusted Minhyuk, at the very least, to watch over him. Minhyuk was probably more capable of caring for someone than Myungjun was (though he would never admit it except to his own mind). Minhyuk gave him soup, understanding what the _right_ amount was, refusing to prod at his mouth with a full spoon, as Myungjun had taken to.

(“You need to eat more, babe, I think that's the way to combat the sickness!”)

Minhyuk also didn't hold his hand the entire time Jinwoo needed to use the bathroom, as Myungjun had taken to.

(“I don't want you to fall, Jinjin. Besides, it's not like I haven't _seen_ any of this before.”)

Minhyuk was great. In fact, even Sanha was great. Even if Sanha spilled soup on the bedsheets and tripped over his own feet while trying to help Jinwoo out from bed, Sanha was actually pretty good help. He still had a long way to go; he had never taken care of others before, though Jinwoo had heard some of what had happened during their little trip, and he supposed Sanha was learning. Regardless, Jinwoo trusted him just as well as Minhyuk.

He didn't trust the two of them together.

Not while he was _sick_ , anyway. When he was healthy, it wasn't much of an issue. They acted fine and seemed just like good friends who enjoyed a kiss now and then. But something must have changed with Jinwoo practically chained to his bed and Myungjun out of the house. They skirted around each other when they _both_ came in to check on Jinwoo; when they did touch, they giggled brightly, happily, and the tips of their ears would turn red.

Jinwoo was already sick enough. He didn't want this honeymoon nonsense right in front of him. But he said nothing. It had only been a few weeks since they arrived back from their trip, and he supposed he should cut them some slack.

But then it became more than that.

He wasn't an idiot. He lived in an apartment with thin walls and small rooms. He could hear things that happened outside his door, down the short hallway, and in the living room. And he definitely knew what kissing sounded like, especially messy, gross kissing.

He tried to ignore it at first. He closed his eyes and tried to let the noises of the city wash over him, send him to sleep. It would have worked, had he not heard the question Sanha posed: “Shouldn't we do this in your bed?”

His eyes opened and he blinked up at the ceiling, waiting for Minhyuk's hushed response.

“Jinwoo's sleeping and Myungjun will never know. It'll be fine.”

Jinwoo sighed and rolled over in his bed. He didn't know when he got with Myungjun that he would have to act as a father figure to two boys. “I'm awake,” he called out, “and I'm not deaf, but I'm _sick_ , and Minhyuk, get your ass in here right now!”

Sanha's shriek, too,was audible, but Jinwoo ignored it. He waited until Minhyuk hurried into the room, red in the face and panting harshly. His hair was mussed and his shirt was wrinkled. Jinwoo sighed again.

“You heard?” Minhyuk asked.

“This apartment isn't exactly a beacon of privacy.” Jinwoo tried to push himself into a sitting position, which he definitely _could_ have done himself. He grumbled as Minhyuk helped him; really, the boy was too nice for his own good sometimes.

And then other times, he was a jerk. Minhyuk was weird. Jinwoo liked it.

“Look, I really don't care what you two do with your spare time, but this _isn't_ your spare time. This is your time to babysit me. Myungjun might be paying you guys, too.”

“He's not,” Minhyuk blurted out. “So we can-”

“I'm going to puke all over this floor.” Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. “If you guys keep kissing, I _will_ puke. _Everywhere_. And I have no energy left for magic, so you'll either have to clean it up, or I'll have to explain exactly to Myungjun _why_ I was puking.”

Minhyuk glared at Jinwoo, obviously waiting for the bluff to be clear. Jinwoo, though, didn't even bat an eye. He was confident in his ability to stare Minhyuk down.

His return gaze seemed to be enough to convince Minhyuk, and the boy rolled his eyes. “ _Fine_ ,” he snapped. “I'll cook some more soup with him, instead.”

“That's safe,” Jinwoo agreed. He waited until Minhyuk had left (muttering to Sanha, “We're cooking, because Jinwoo hates our love.”) to sigh and release himself back down into his bed, curling up underneath the sheets.

He would have never ruined Myungjun's bedroom to prove a point. Minhyuk overestimated him.

 

Night had always been Jinwoo's least favorite part of his life. He hated the dark. The dark had always overwhelmed him when he was younger. It enveloped him, acting as his only friend, tainting him completely. He was reminded of a basement, of a bench, of a cold bed with a back facing him.

Myungjun changed that, however. When Jinwoo became used to laying down at night, Myungjun's warm body plastered against his own, he began to appreciate all other aspects that the darkness had to offer. It brought out the stars and the moon. It hugged the world, reminding it that, in due time, the sun would take over if only they could wait for a few hours.

“ _I_ don't have to wait for the sunrise,” Jinwoo whispered once, and Myungjun buried his face into Jinwoo's chest, embracing him even more than the darkness ever could.

Of course, with his illness, it was a little more difficult to achieve that sort of close proximity he would have normally liked.

“I'm almost better!” Jinwoo complained, scooting closer to Myungjun.

His boyfriend just stuck his hand out, one of his clean masks stretched in Jinwoo's direction. “If you want to even _think_ about getting close to me, you'll wear this.”

Jinwoo whined. “I don't want to. I want to kiss your neck and your cheeks and your-”

“And spread your _germs_ all over me?” Myungjun asked with a scoff. “No, thank you. I'm smarter than that, Jinwoo. I know you're trying to get me sick so you can baby _me_. It will not _work_.”

That hadn't been even _remotely_ on Jinwoo's mind, though he definitely would never pass up the chance to baby Myungjun.

“It's already icky to breathe _without_ a mask. What if I keep coughing?”

But Myungjun was relentless. He pushed the mask into Jinwoo's face with a glare, visible even in the darkness. “Wear it,” he ordered.

Jinwoo had no choice, really, unless he wanted to see his boyfriend sleep on the couch, _again_. He snatched it away, fussing as he put it on his face. “You just don't want kisses, probably. You're just lame. You probably have a secret boyfriend you're stealing kisses from, because there's no way you'd go this long without any of _my_ kisses.”

“You underestimate me, you ass,” Myungjun replied.

Jinwoo flopped back down into the bed and closed his eyes. “You've been kissing pictures of me, haven't you?”

He knew he guessed it right when Myungjun gave a loud yelp of embarrassment and lightly hit Jinwoo with a pillow. “Only _twice!_ ” he exclaimed. “And only because it's _really_ difficult to look at you and not kiss you. Like, how does anyone else do this?”

“I don't think anyone else loves me like you do,” Jinwoo pointed out.

Myungjun didn't respond at first, and Jinwoo winced. The words were familiar, and had rolled off his tongue with little regard as to _who_ said them first and foremost. “Let me rephrase,” Jinwoo said, “I don't think...I mean, I feel _your_ love is real-”

“Damn right it is.”

“-and I don't think anyone could replicate it exactly as you do. And even if they could, it's no one I would be happy with.”

Myungjun laid down beside Jinwoo. He wore his own mask over his face, presumably in an attempt to stay healthy and still sleep in bed next to his sick boyfriend.

“Are you trying to butter me up so I can take off our masks?”

“Is it working?”

Myungjun laughed, hitting Jinwoo once more before scooting slightly away. They weren't pressed up together and they weren't holding onto each other. Jinwoo hated it. He liked some form of affection, even something simple.

So he held out his hand. He wiggled his fingers once when Myungjun glanced at it.

“My hand won't get you sick,” he assured.

“Have you coughed in it? God, maybe I should wear gloves.”

When Jinwoo groaned in frustration, Myungjun took his chance and wrapped his hand around Jinwoo's palm. He slowly brought their fingers together: “Fits like a puzzle piece,” he mentioned.

Jinwoo thought so, too.

“I'll be better tomorrow,” he promised. “And then can we kiss.”

Myungjun appeared to be in thought, and Jinwoo waited it out. He could deal with his boyfriend's antics, so long as the answer was _yes_.

And Myungjun said the answer Jinwoo wanted to hear.

“As if I could ever withhold kissing you,” he added. As if to prove his point, he brought Jinwoo's hand up to his face and kissed it through the mask.

Even with the fabric as a barrier, Jinwoo still felt his skin tingle, and he smiled brightly.

“Let's sleep,” Myungjun whispered, “so that way we can wake up faster, and you'll be better, and I'll kiss you then.”

Jinwoo decided he would never be sick again.

(He passed his germs onto Sanha.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> YOOOOOOO witchcraft still lives on in my heart. and once shifter is finally complete, it will TRULY live on!!!! in all our hearts <3
> 
> hmu with comments [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com).


End file.
